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Not once in its long and prestigious record had the local transit from Windsor to Staines experienced such a greeting. Escorted by police, tracked by global media, the brightly colored single-decker made its way regally up Windsor’s main street, while onlookers strained to see of the single senior inside. “He’s not there,” remarked one man, rather superfluously.

A Day of Much Ado About Not Much

This was that kind of a day on the shores of the Thames: a great deal of enthusiasm over minimal activity, a secondary event that felt mainly secondary to the ceremony occurring within the closed off castle grounds. “I’m afraid not much is going to happen, madam,” advised a police officer a woman broadcasting a online video from the curb, as he directed her further back toward the pavement.

Insignificant Events and Lots of Anticipating

Of course, a few events actually take place, though not much of major importance in the broader context. Individuals yelled opinions at each other. People argued over Gaza. Attendees flaunted flags and brandished placards. A man in a Maga hat tried a vinegary snack from the fish and chips store and made a face. Television runners shuttled up and down Castle Hill delivering flat whites to on-screen talent. Light rain fell.

The town became a crowded space viewing other people watch things, at once comforted by their nearness to the primary occasion and disappointed by their failure to influence it.

Water Patrols and Unforeseen Wildlife

“Our team is prepared for anything that will happen on or around the water,” stated Sgt Lyn Smith, head of a combined marine unit between Thames Valley and Hampshire police. When the official guests came close to Windsor, almost the only thing taking place near the water was a swan relieving itself.

A Festival Structured for Reduced Contact with People

Naturally, this event with little action was partly integral to the design, the expected outcome of a state visit whose primary aim was to avoid any imaginable contact with the general public. As Trump and King Charles inspected the guard, the crowd outside was left totally to its own amusements. A bit of advice: if you tell a Maga supporter that his large flag only has 49 stars on it, he’ll still be tallying them half an hour later.

News Attention and the Pursuit for Content

Nevertheless, all had gathered and the cameras were rolling, so how was everyone going to use up their programs? A leading broadcaster was seen to spend a large portion of time showing aerial shots of the castle. “The lead item today, historic structure stays upright.”

“Observe some drops of rain on the camera there, and rain naturally has an effect on flying,” a commentator filibustered on a news channel in an attempt to explain why Trump’s helicopter was still had not taken off. Obviously some alternative entertainment was needed.

The Superfans Step Center Stage

Come forth: the hardcore enthusiasts. And they are rarely in limited quantity at events like these, drawn like moths to a media pool, obligingly filling long stretches of silent moments with their antics. There was a guy outfitted from head to toe in UK and US flags. There was a woman with a covered alsatian wrapped in a political garment. There was a guy who had spent two days painting a picture of Trump as a primitive figure, carrying King Charles on his back like a baby. There were people outside the retail outlet having heated arguments about the definition of genocide. All found a receptive crowd among the roving reporters eager for copy, any copy, any kind of colour.

It becomes clear how easily what counts as viewpoints in this country is formed by the most audible – and by extension the most unconventional – people.

A Draw for Misfits

Maybe it is unavoidable that any circus will attract a few eccentrics. But this does also seem to be a trait very unique to Trump: the consistent ability to attract outsiders and misfits wherever he goes. Let’s face it: Trump himself is just a very weird guy, the kind of specimen you imagine would come from an unlucky nuclear accident involving a large block of orange cheese. And in a sense his entire presidency has been a kind of call to the unsatisfied, the gullible, the intrigued by theories, the less than conscious. Oddities of the world, unite. We assemble at Windsor at daybreak. Wear whatever you like.

Everyday Issues Interrupts

Royals. Police. Journalists. The Hampshire and Berkshire branches of the Trump fanclub. Was there anyone here even slightly ordinary? “Not in Windsor,” snorted the girl behind the bar of the Horse and Groom. “They’re all too busy shouting at each other.” And perhaps there is something about this place that encourages the cosplay in everyone, a royal seat with a town unwillingly attached, a kind of façade England with its waves of flags and tourist traps, a reverie to sell the tourists. What sort of truth were we really expecting to find here?

Actual life does still intrude, if you pay close attention. A little distance from the madding crowd, a couple of local political party councillors were giving away leaflets. Enhance our parks and playgrounds. Replace broken streetlights. Deal with “grot spots”, whatever they are. This is the governance that genuinely affects people’s lives, far closer at any rate than some American president sitting in a horse-drawn carriage that nobody can see. But they’re having a tough time getting the point across. “We’re about looking after people, addressing things, serving communities,” says Mark Wilson of the Eton and Castle ward. “But that’s not what gets clicks.”

The Aftermath of the Spectacle

Inside the grounds, men in unusual headwear were playing wind devices. The banquet table in St George’s Hall was being prepared. Outside, the crowds were leaving. The No 10 bus was well on its way to Staines. The woman in the campaign cap had gone into Wagamama to grab some teppanyaki. And it was impossible not to sense the chasm between these spheres, far thicker than a castle wall, worlds briefly adjacent but always estranged.